


From the Ashes

by thequeenmeera



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: DANY DID NOTHING WRONG, Dark!Jon, F/F, F/M, I'm really mad that male characters can do horrible disgusting things and get redemption, Multi, Other, Will add more characters later - Freeform, but as soon as a woman does something 'bad' she deserves to die, dany had reasons for doing what she did, dark!Tyrion, madness and pointless violence are not the same thing, morally gray dany, or be excused by fans and the writers, the major character death may not happen but I'm tagging it in case I choose to roll with it, they may not add up in the end but she had them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-03-07 00:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenmeera/pseuds/thequeenmeera
Summary: In the aftermath of the war for the Iron Throne Queen Daenerys Targaryen has to reconcile herself with her actions and make the choice to reject paranoia. After an assassination attempt she calls on a new council to help her rebuild and make Westeros better than it was before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a fic for people who want to villainize Daenerys or hero worship Jon and Tyrion.  
> Characters (and people) can make distasteful choices without being evil.  
> It's particularly misogynistic that male characters can be as desructive as the OOC Dany of 8x05 over their entire lives, compared to once, and be allowed both to live on and be humanized and even redeemed but as soon as a woman isn't perfect, as soon as she is cruel she is immediately irredeemable and evil and has to be killed off.

**Jon**

Jon went to grip Longclaw’s hilt in his anger but found air instead; all weapons had to be turned over to the guards before he’d been admitted into the queen’s presence. “You slew innocents, THOUSANDS of them! The soldiers had thrown down their swords. The citizens were ringing the bells in surrender. You agreed, you gave us the chance to save the people and you waited until the sign was given to murder them!”

The queen’s eyes were cold, “And you’re so much better Lord Snow? You didn’t slaughter innocent men and women at the Wall? You never killed a man while he begged for mercy? I know you have. Innocents die in war every day and you ought to remember that from dragonback I can’t exactly see who is the citizen and who the soldier.”

She moved further away from him to look out the window. The keep was mostly gone now, the city too. She gazed out over rubble and smoke. “And those men did not surrender. They looked like they did to you but you didn’t see the weapons behind them; catapults of wildfire ready to destroy you once they got close enough. You also seem to believe that I ought to have put my faith in Cersei yet again.”

“– Not in Cersei in the people! The people did not deserve to be killed!”

“Perhaps they should not have taken shelter in the city!”

“But –”

“Do you think I wanted to kill innocents? Don’t interrupt me again,” she held up her hand, “Did you expect me to sit in judgement of every man, woman, and child in this city to decide which were worthy of life and which of death? Did you expect me to sit on the sidelines and wait for you to march to the Red Keep for me? Did you think it would be that easy? Of course it wouldn’t have been. The people of this city may hate me, but I am also supposed to believe they hated Cersei and yet they did nothing to stop her until, supposedly, the moment Drogon landed on the walls of a city full of wildfire. I am supposed to believe that Tyrion’s plan to give those people mercy was successful without evidence, when he was trying to save his sister, thinks me a tyrant, and was involved in Varys’s scheme to put _you_ on the throne.”

“So you slaughtered thousands of men, women, and children after they’d surrendered because you don’t know to trust us?”

“Why should I? After everything you and Tyrion and Varys have put me through.”

Jon kept his hand close to the pocket, brushing the hilt of his dagger with his fingers. “A queen who does not trust anyone is as bad as a queen who trusts no one. I am sorry that Sansa told Tyrion the truth. She promised me that she would say nothing, she betrayed me as well as you. But how could you have known that the men hadn’t surrendered?”

He moved closer, up the steps towards the window Dany stood by. He kept his voice gentle, his hands steady. His life was forfeit, he knew. There were guards within the room, just yards away, but this was necessary. This was for the realm. She was turned away, examining the curls of smoke that rose from rubble down the high hill. “Dany,” his voice caught and he set one hand on her shoulder, to keep her facing the window. One quick thrust through the neck, that’s all it would take and she wouldn’t need to see it.

But she heard the catch and turned to look at him. Her face changed from hard anger to fear. She screamed and threw herself away from him. Jon rushed forward, dagger in hand. It must be done. But the queen was scrambling to her feet and the guards were on him. The dagger wrenched from his grip and the last words he heard from the lips of the woman he once loved were “Take him to the black cells.”

**Daenerys**

She sat on her bed, shaking. She’d loved him, loved him so much that it hurt. Daenerys had known that Jon was not to be trusted anymore, that he would judge her harshly for her actions. She judged herself enough for both of them. But she truly had not expected him to bring a knife. His eyes had been cold. _He thought he was doing a kindness, in a way_. Saving the people from her, the monster. Daenerys picked at the scabs on her hands, the ones she’d gotten from crawling through the rubble with her men. _And now I am truly alone_.

That could not be though. She did not intend to descend into madness the way her father had, never trusting anyone. Even though she had reason to not trust anymore. “I need better advisors, I need a council,” she said to the darkness.

**Gendry**

_There is so much work to be done_. He’d barely arrived at Storm’s End when the summons came from King’s Landing. He was rather glad of it, Gendry had no desire for a lordship and Storm’s End was not a place he could ever call home. The single drum tower was menacing and dark. The storms echoed without. He knew the solidity of the castle ought to have made him feel safe from the storms but instead he felt nothing but trapped. There seemed to be a menacing presence lurking within the walls. King’s Landing wasn’t much better but it was where he had been born and raised.

Some rubble had been cleared to make streets passable but aside from that most of the city had been levelled in the battle. Survivors of the battle had built lean-tos or simply taken shelter against or beneath the collapsed walls and homes. He was not sorry to see the city destroyed. Disturbed, truly, he had not imagined Queen Daenerys to be the sort of person to unleash such destruction but then again she was a queen. High lords and ladies, kings and queens, they could go to any lengths, destroy anything, and it would not surprise Gendry. _At least she isn’t forcing the people to work, yet_. He’d seen that before in the Riverlands.

He would not pretend to like the queen or the power she’d handed him with legitimacy he’d never asked for but Gendry figured he might as well see what being on the queens’ council would mean. And if he didn’t like it disappearing would not be very hard. He could always take a boat to Essos.

**Arya**

_She puts my brother in chains and expects me to sit at her feet like a good dog?_ Arya had seen enough death, had failed too many people when the queens played their game just days before. Perhaps she should have left King’s Landing, or at least stayed inconspicuous. If anyone could disappear Arya could. But there was nothing left for her in Winterfell. Bran wasn’t himself anymore and Sansa was… Sansa. Everyone she’d loved there was gone or changed beyond recognition, her wolf had abandoned her, and there was so much work to be done in King’s Landing.

“You’ve been asked to sit on the Queen’s Council, my lady,” the soldier repeated. He had no intention of leaving Arya to move rubble in peace.

“Why me?” she asked pointlessly.

“Come.”

**Bran**

Sansa was shaking with rage and she threw the note on the table. “That monster can’t take you from me,” she snarled. It was the angriest he’d seen her since they were children and he and Arya had gotten mud in her hair, staining her dress. “In a few weeks someone will have gotten rid of her anyway.”

“No,” Bran told her, the calm settling over him, burying whatever surprise or dismay he may have felt. Whatever ripples of emotion made their way across his consciousness disappeared quickly. “I’ll go. You don’t need me, and you only like the thought of me being here. Mayhap I can do some good on the council.”

His sister glared at him, seemed about to shout again, but calmed herself. “Very well, I’ll arrange for a barge to meet you at the White Knife and for you to take ship at White Harbor. It will only take two weeks to reach the city if the snows have melted as much as they have here.”

“No,” he said again. “No, I’ll ride south on the Kingsroad.”

“Bran, that’s unwise. You’ll get sores and the Neck may be impassable. And what of the danger? How many people might try to rob or murder you?”

“I’ll be fine. In the meantime you should think about the irrigation plans I drew up. There are men and women who need work and those canals will help bring the North more food for the next winter.”

Sansa sighed and pulled the plans out of the pile on the table, “and how are these supposed to work again?”

**Meera**

The bogs were still icy but had warmed enough for the waters to flow again. The lizard lions and turtles were starting to come out from their dens and mate and the first new growths had sprouted on the trees and amongst the grasses. Spring was on its way.

Meera saw the flutter of dark wings before she heard the raven croak. It settled in a tree nearby and watched her while she hunted, looking for the black log-like forms. She needed new boots desperately so she could burn her old ones.

The bird _quorked_ again, distracting her, before it took flight and continued its way south. She watched it clear the tops of the trees and wondered for a moment why it had been there. Why it had watched her. Then she saw it, the log-like shape, floating too fast to be floating and angling towards her. Meera braced herself and moved her spear into the right position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to approve any comments about how I'm just as bad as D&D or whatever for exploring a concept or giving Daenerys the humanization, reasoning, and redemption she deserves after that fiasco of a show.  
> And before anyone says anything I'm aware the argument at the beginning circles around and isn't necessarily logical. Fights aren't usually logical in my experience.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my canon now.

**Bran**

The switch to the skin boats was awkward but Bran was rather comfortable in them. He had not been able to swim since his fall and baths did not include the same sensations. _The world presses close in the Neck,_ Meera had said once and it was true. The trees and grasses were dense and when beneath the shelter of the leaves it was dark and near impossible to tell what direction one went in. It was as directionless to Bran as the winter woods of the far north. Everything looked the same.

He’d ridden south as he intended, he’d never been south of Winterfell before and Bran was curious to see the world rather than the waves. He guessed he had sores from all the riding but would not be able to have them checked until he reached King’s Landing. Or at least he would not bring himself to ask for someone to check.

The woods near Winterfell had cleared out within miles into rolling hills that in summer would be covered in grasses. It was grassland for the most part until they reached the Neck when the trees rose up ahead like a grayer Wall. They had not taken the causeway down the edge of it but instead had approached the edge of the swamps and waited for crannogmen to appear at the sight of their banners.

It had taken a week to go from the edge of the Neck to Greywater but it was a necessary delay. Bran had to do this, as nervous as he was. He swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat and squinted ahead into the shadowy darkness under the canopy. He’d seen the landscape of the Neck as it was below and nearly lost a hand to a turtle. An hour before Bran and his guards had been told they were near the castle, or where it should be. He squinted, trying to decide if he was seeing trees or stone before them.

The walls of Greywater Watch appeared out of the mist, so close the boat nearly hit it. Bran waited patiently while he was rowed around to a dock with Lord Reed waiting for him there. He looked for Meera but could not see if she was in the small crowd.

Bran nearly drowned when the men tried to get him out of the boat, one of them stepped inside, putting too much weight on that foot, flipping the boat.

The water was cold and Bran struggled to pull himself back up but his dead legs dragged him down. The water was far deeper than he’d imagined and he forced himself to hold his breath, drag himself upward with his arms. Short arms wrapped around him, dragging something about his waist. Bran’s lungs hurt, he needed to breathe and his vision was edged in black when he felt himself being dragged upward.

He felt colder on the dock, coughing and spitting and shivering. He was laid on his side and a small, freezing hand stroked his face, shoving the hair out of his eyes. “Are you alright?” Meera asked. She was out of breath, soaked through and shivering, her curls plastered to her neck.

Bran coughed up more water in response. “Get them inside,” someone above them said.

**********************

He’d felt confined ever since his fall but being wrapped tightly in blankets, swaddled like a babe only made things worse. He was still shivering though and he could not bear being without the blankets. So Bran sipped at his soup and tried to stay awake.

“Why are you here?” Meera asked him. She hadn’t looked at him since that moment on the docks; now she stared into the fire and sipped at her own soup.

“I needed to see you,” he said, then coughed.

She looked startled, “You came all the way here to see me? What for?”

“I don’t need an agenda to want to see you again.”

“Bran,” she growled.

He groaned, “I’ve been asked to sit on the new queen’s council.”

“So you thought you’d stop here on your way?”

“Well yes, I should have come anyway.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Meera –”

“– What do you want from me? Have I not given you enough of my time and my –”

“– Could I please speak?”

She gave as much of a wave as she could with the blankets, “Very well.”

Bran bit his lip and considered his next words carefully. “I missed you and I feel awful for how I treated you those last few months. I cannot take it back but I want to make it up to you, if I can.”

She turned to look at him, “And how would you make it up to me?”

“Well first, I’m sorry.”

Meera nodded, “You should be.”

“Second, I should tell you that you are lucky to have left when you did. There was nothing in Winterfell for you to do and you only would have been in danger, but I regret being so cold to you.”

“But I was in danger.”

“You were, what?”

Meera frowned, “The dead rose here as well. And the winter has been bitter.”

“Oh, right. But you were safer here than you would have been. So many people died at Winterfell Meera, I’m glad you weren’t one of them.”

“So am I, to be honest.”

Bran took a deep breath before he continued, “About making things up to you,” he turned as best he could to look her in the eye, “Would you marry me?”

Meera dropped her soup. “Marry you?”

“Yes, I love you. I think you love me or if anyone could it would be you. I wouldn’t force you into marrying me of course but I am offering…”

“And where would we live, what would we do, what would…?”

“I am asking you to come to King’s Landing with me. We wouldn’t be there forever just for a few years. Then we could go back to Winterfell.”

Meera to sit up straighter. “Bran, you’re asking me to leave behind my home and my family forever for you.”

“If it makes you feel better King’s Landing is not my home either. But I don’t want to live without you anymore. I can’t. And you can do good there, your influence is needed.”

“My influence?” She raised an eyebrow, “Do you mean my influence over you? I am barely a lady Bran and have no wealth. What sort of influence could I have?”

“Your friendship has kept me alive –”

She snorted, “It was my work not my friendship that kept you alive.”

Bran chewed on his lip, “But what is the point of living when everything is dark and silent? To be nothing more than a creature that gathers and holds on to memories for others while I make none of my own. The Three Eyed Raven convinced me that my lot in life was to preserve history; that I didn’t matter and should not be concerned with my own desires. That even desire was a problem in itself. But I cannot live like that anymore. Over the last few weeks I’ve realized that if I don’t allow myself to be Bran Stark with all my faults and wishes and wants then the only thing for me to do was to cut my wrists and be done with it. So yes your friendship kept me alive because it was all I had to live for.”

“But you have a family.”

“I want you.”

Meera disentangled herself from the blankets and grabbed the fallen bowl off the floor. “I’ll think on it Bran.”

**Arya**

Her rooms were small and sparsely furnished but she didn’t mind. She hadn’t had to face the new queen yet and all the better. Arya wandered about the keep, examining the parts that remained standing. The tower of the hand where she had lived with her father and Sansa was gone as was the throne room and the sept.

The godswood however remained intact. It wasn’t much of an excuse for a godswood with an oak tree serving as the heart tree rather than a weirwood. It was peaceful there. Arya was startled by someone moving in the brush. A large someone, “Gendry?” she asked, surprised.

He started, “Arya! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Gendry,” she said again and ran to embrace him.

Gendry’s arms were strong and he lifted her off her feet, “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was in King’s Landing for the battle, I was afraid for you, I thought you were here. And then I was commanded to join the queen’s council.”

“Me too,” he told her as he set her back on her feet.

“Were you here for the battle?”

“No, I was on my way to Storm’s End. Can’t say I’m sorry to see most of this city gone.”

“It was awful though. So many smallfolk were still in the city when the dragon flew in and set off the wildfire.”

Gendry frowned, “I wish I’d been here to help you, to help people get out. But what can we expect? Kings and queens do as they wish and we, or the smallfolk that is, just do our best to survive.”

“They should have been leaving the city, instead they all packed in.”

“I heard there was wildfire all over under the city.”

“There was, and an angry dragon to set it off.”

“What do we do about all this? This council position.”

“I don’t know.”

**Daenerys**

“I dreamed of Missandei again,” she told Grey Worm. “When the blade touched her she transformed into a thousand purple butterflies.”

Her captain was quiet, he was always quiet but Dany could sense the sadness that clung to him. He’d feared only one thing and had been forced to see that fear come to pass. She stood and reached for him, holding his arm. “You do not have to follow me,” she said, “You may go anywhere you wish.”

“I will stay with you,” he said. “You gave me a choice, I chose to follow you.”

“Alright, thank you Grey Worm.”

Dany visited the throne room, or what was left of it. She hated the Iron Throne. Its hulking form that loomed over the hall, over the kingdoms. _We rule with fire and blood, and my hands are no cleaner than Aegon’s. Worse even._ But she did not have to remain cruel or hard.

She felt Drogon’s presence near her, curled around the crumbled stones, staring at the pile of swords. “Dracarys,” she commanded.

Drogon’s fire was hotter than it had been even a few months before. Soon all that remained was a pool of molten metal.

“A new rule, a new city, a new era dawns on Westeros,” she proclaimed to the air.

**Gendry**

It was evening on his third day at court, or their excuse for a court, and Gendry had yet to meet with the queen. He’d seen her from a distance with her guards. She let no one near her person.

There was a knock on his door and Gendry went to open it. Arya leaned on the doorframe, “May I come in?” she asked.

He moved aside and gestured his consent. He could guess what she was there for but her words surprised him, “I’ve rethought your offer,” she said.

“What offer?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Your offer of marriage. When this city was falling down around me I thought about everyone I ever cared for. Most of them are dead now or changed. You’ve only changed for the better. I want to be with you. And I’ll teach you to use a fork if I have to.”

Gendry lowered his head and pulled her close, brushing his lips against hers, “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she told him before she closed the tiny gap between their lips.

**Meera**

Their wedding was quiet, attended by only a few people. Two days later Meera found herself riding down the causeway beside Bran. Within the week they left her homeland behind. The lands south of the Neck were full of people, hungry people, angry people. Not one stretch of land had gone unaffected by the wars. It was only going to get worse until they reached King’s Landing which had been reduced to rubble and ash she was told.

Her best comfort on those nights on the kingsroad was sharing her furs with someone else. Bran was quiet , comforting, and warm and his lips were so soft.

**Tyrion**

Casterly Rock was his consolation he supposed. Consolation for his brother and sister’s bodies being uncovered in the rubble, Jaime’s knife in Cersei’s chest. He’d been dismissed out of hand for his friendships and relations. Not because of anything he did but because the queen was judging him based on his family.

He examined the wine stores beneath the castle and had a cask taken to his rooms. Tyrion did not plan to sit idly by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not engaging in any arguments. If you don't like my work you're cordially invited to read something else or write your own, I'm not stopping you.  
> Thanks for reading! I'll continue soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this to be an even longer chapter but the first council meeting is going to happen next chapter. Exciting things are happening! I think I know where the whole fic is going and have worked out what's going on with certain characters who were being difficult but you'll just have to wait (and wait) and see!  
> 
> 
>   
>  **The Small Council of the Seven Kingdoms**   
> 
> 
>   
> Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen Regnant of All Westeros, Shield of Her People, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Slayer of Shadows, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons  
> Hand of the Queen – Edmure Tully  
> Lord Commander of the Queensguard – Barristan Selmy  
> Mistress of Coin – Sarella Sand/Martell  
> Mistress of Laws – Arya Stark  
> Master of Whispers – Bran Stark  
> Master of Ships – Selwyn Tarth – A “good man”  
> Grand Maester Vaellyn – called “Vinegar Vaellyn” a sour man  
>  **Advisors**  
>  Gendry Waters/Baratheon  
> Garrett Flowers/Tyrell  
> Grey Worm  
> Jhogo  
> Olyvar Frey
> 
> Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell – Brandon Stark, his sister Sansa serves as his proxy  
> Wardeness of the East and Lady of Storm's End – Mya Stone/Baratheon  
> Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock – Tyrion Lannister  
> Wardeness of the South and Lady of Sunspear – Sarella Sand/Martell, her sister Elia serves as her proxy

**Daenerys**

There were so many people. Smallfolk lined the streets begging for food which she had tasked a fifth her men to digging out from crumbled stones and or fetching it from Rosby, Duskendale, and other surrounding holdfasts. Another two-fifths were sent south to the Reach, the Stormlands, Dorne, and the Westerlands to obtain food for the people of the Crownlands, Riverlands, and the North as those were the places that had been most hurt in the wars. She had flown to the Vale personally one day to ensure the allegiance of House Arryn and that the Vale would send a portion of its stores to King’s Landing, Riverrun, and Winterfell. Reports that the food had been sent had arrived the day before.

Edmure Tully and Olyvar Frey were the first of her new councilors to arrive from without King’s Landing. She had not tried meeting with Arya Stark or Gendry Baratheon yet, especially in light of their being the family or friend of Jon Snow. Lord Tully was tall and slender, bearing a strong resemblance to his niece the Lady Sansa. But there was little similarity in their personalities. Where Lady Stark was cold and guarded by courtesy Lord Tully was warm and passionate. They did share a natural sort of grace in their actions and words which Dany assumed must be a trait of the Tullys.

As soon as he dismounted in the yard Lord Tully approached and knelt before her, “Your Grace,” he began “I am honored by your call and I hope to serve you well.”

She smiled, “Rise my lord. How fares Riverrun? Your family?”

The man frowned, “If I may be honest the Riverlands are troubled. Bandits and rogues still infest our lands, endangering the people even with this Brotherhood Without Banners attempting to make some semblance of peace amongst the smallfolk. There is little food to be had, and as for my family,” he heaved a deep sigh, “I only met my wife the Lady Roslin once and was imprisoned after the wedding night. When I was brought to Casterly Rock to be imprisoned there she and our son were supposed to be sent to meet me but they never arrived. It was just before I received the call to your service that I discovered she and our infant son were –” He took a deep breath and struggled to control his face. He started again at a different point, “When the culprits for the Red Wedding were killed there were still many Freys left alive because of their lack of involvement, and there were many who were not present at the Twins at the time. There was a struggle for power over the succession in which my wife and son were…” he gulped, “killed.”

“Oh,” Dany reached out and grasped his arm, “I am sorry.”

He nodded his thanks and there was little opportunity for further conversation as they were drowned out by the sound of clattering hooves announcing the arrival of more councilors.

Ser Garrett Flowers, a bastard nephew of the late Mace Tyrell, and the new Grand Maester, a man called Vaellyn. They had to wait for her to greet Olyvar Frey, a surprisingly handsome and reticent young man who had once been squire to King Robb Stark.

Ser Garrett had earned his spurs at some point during the latest wars, knighted by some lordling or other. He was clearly hoping to be given Highgarden since Ser Bronn of the Blackwater had been handed the castle and the position of Lord Paramount of the Reach over Ser Garrett and a few other distant Tyrell cousins by Cersei Lannister. Daenerys however had little desire to upset things more than she already had until it was necessary. For the moment she could use Ser Garrett’s presence to see if he was worthy of the role.

The new Grand Maester was a sour old man but he came well-qualified and with no history of favoritism towards any houses. Upon their first meeting he managed to insult her family, her title, the fact that the metal that made up the Iron Throne had recently been turned over to the local blacksmiths for use in rebuilding the city or forging new armor and weapons, whichever it was most needed for. But he was honest, and that was what Dany had hoped for most of all. She could not indulger herself with counselors who would never question her actions. It made her miss Tyrion and his sharp tongue but he had his own lands and problems to deal with. He had not been pleased with her when they parted but there was always hope of a reconciliation.

The new mistress of coin, Sarella Martell whom Daenerys had recently legitimized, and the new master of ships Lord Selwyn Tarth arrived within days of each other. Lord Selwyn was larger than his daughter and his hair was more gray than straw blond at this time of his life. His manners were far more polished than his daughter’s though he was still rather stiff. He brought with him a small ship meant for Daenerys to take sailing if she ever felt so inclined.

Lady Sarella was subtle, graceful, and witty. Her eyes reminded Dany of the snakes she’d seen in the red waste. Calculating, judging her as if on a scale. Dany hoped the judgment favored her. The dark-skinned woman approached holding a box and nodded instead of bowing. “Your Grace,” she said, “This was found among the possessions of one of my bannermen.” She opened the box to reveal a crown. It was a simple dark steel circlet inset with rubies. While unassuming in nature Dany felt the prickle of significance, it could only be one thing. She took the crown and stared down at it. The long lost crown of Aegon the Conqueror.

* * *

The last member of the council to enter King’s Landing was Brandon Stark. Jon’s unsettling younger brother, or cousin.

Daenerys had been torn over the decision to appoint the two Starks to her council, along with their uncle and Lord Tarth who may hold the Starks in high regards due to his daughter’s association with them. But in the end, as she had told Ser Barristan, “I must go about making amends. I have the chance to befriend the younger Starks this way.”

“And,” Barristan said, “By keeping them in King’s Landing they also serve as effective hostages against their sister.”

“They are not to be hostages.”

“That’s not how Lady Stark will see it.”

Dany felt ill and dizzy, as she often had of late, “Lady Stark will choose to see things as she will. She’s made it clear she wishes to see me in the worst light and there’s nothing I can do to stop her except to prove her wrong.”

Brandon Stark rode into the city from the kingsroad with a small entourage. There were men in the yard waiting to help him into a chair in which he would be carried from place to place about the keep. It was far too rough for them to consider giving him a wheeled chair at the moment. When he was settled the small woman who had ridden into the keep beside him walked over and slapped his arm. “Ouch!” He cried, then “Oh, right.” He turned to look at Daenerys, “I thank you for your invitation Your Grace, and for the hospitality. You’d be surprised how few people would even think of something like this,” he gestured at the chair.

“Welcome to King’s Landing, or what is left of it. I thank you for agreeing to join my council, Lord Stark.”

The young man nodded and turned to his female companion, the woman who’d hit him. She was smaller than Dany, dressed in leathers and green-dyed wool, all of which hid whatever form she might have. She had curly dark hair and hunter’s eyes and seemed to be studying Dany.

“Who are you?” Dany asked.

“Meera Reed.”

“Lady Meera Stark,” Ser Podrick interjected from behind. “She’s Lord Stark’s wife.”

“I apologize my lady, my lord. I didn’t know you were married,” Dany said, addressing her new councilor.

“We were wed at my home on Bran’s – my, husband’s – journey south,” his wife answered.

“And we have a gift for you, Your Grace.” The young lord motioned Ser Podrick forward, who handed a long package to Lady Stark, who unwrapped it quickly to reveal a valyrian steel longsword.

Lady Stark presented it to Dany, “We found this beyond the wall, Bran says it’s Dark Sister.”

Dany took the sword and examined it curiously. She had never seen Dark Sister, nor had anyone alive for a century but she had no reason to doubt Lord Stark’s word after everything he did during the war for the dawn. It was a beautiful weapon; long and slender, the blade dark with thousands of tiny, wavy lines. One for each time the metal was folded and pounded, or at least that was what she had been told. And it had belonged to Visenya and after her Maegor the Cruel for a time, then Jaeherys, Baelon, Daemon, Aemon the Dragonknight, and finally Brynden Rivers. So few for such a bloody history. She finally turned back to the young lord “I thank you, my lord, for returning this.”

“Well, my family has experience with heirlooms being stolen from us. We thought it best to return what artifacts we could of yours. But you’re thanking the wrong person, it was my lady wife who found it; she slew more than one of the Others with it as well,” the young lord replied.

“Well then I thank you, my lady,” Dany said turning back to the new Lady Stark.

She got a tight smile and nod in return.

“It has served you well? And the realm. Did you slay many of the Others with it?”

“Only three,” the lady shrugged.

“That’s more than most. I must thank you again for your valiance.”

There were a few more pleasantries exchanged and Dany put the sword into the care of Ser Barristan. When Lord Stark was carried off to his new chambers his lady stayed behind.

Dany motioned for the new Lady Stark to accompany her as she walked back towards the inner keep. “May I ask you more questions?” Dany asked and waited for the lady’s quiet consent. “Well you said you were wed at your home. I feel compelled to ask why? Did the young lord stay at your castle and ask for your hand after meeting you? I did not think he was so impulsive.”

Lady Stark laughed and much of the tension melted off her face, “I’ve known Bran for years; how did you think he lived beyond the Wall? Surely you don’t think he could have fed or clothed or carried himself. He did ask me to wed him when he was staying in my father’s house but there was nothing sudden about his question – to him. I had not considered our marrying a possibility for some time.”

“May I ask why not?”

“You’ve seen him. He’s not quite himself anymore and he was so much worse when I left Winterfell. I did not think he’d cared for me anymore.”

“And now?”

“Now I know he does. He struggles with feeling but the real Bran is winning now I think. Instead of that thrice-damned raven.”

**Arya**

The dragon queen did not appear to be mad. Arya had been watching the woman for weeks, never speaking to her and avoiding her sight. Queen Daenerys had burned much of King’s Landing, or perhaps the burning was due to Cersie Lannister’s caches of wildfire and where that wasn’t available there had been great stores of oil and dried grass hidden beneath buildings, waiting to burn. So many smallfolk had taken shelter in the city when they ought to have fled to Duskendale or the Kingswood or anywhere but a city riddled with kindling, sacrifices on the lioness’s pyre. Cersei had meant for the battle to be destructive, had done her best to make it as bloody as possible and it was. As was sweeping over homes with dragonfire.

Still, the silver-haired woman who had thrown Arya’s brother in the black cells showed no signs of true madness. She did not scream or beat anyone. She did not use children for targets or feed anyone to her dragon. She did not look over her shoulder wherever she walked or let her nails grow long. Her face was sad, not angry or unstable.

“Your brother’s army wasn’t innocent in this,” Gendry pointed out one day as they were taking bread to the lines of starving smallfolk. “All the highborn give men sword and spear and tell them to kill. So they kill. Dragon or wildfire, krakens or direwolves, you all tear the world down and blame whoever you killed.”

“For a moment I thought you were talking about Robb,” was Arya’s reply.

Gendry had told her similar things back when they were trying to find Robb. That Robb had led armies, thousands upon thousands of northmen and river-folk had died in the War of Five Kings for her brother and thousands more because of him. _It was the Lannisters_ , she had always told herself when she’d looked on the faces of the starving smallfolk and the slaughtered and those who were enslaved with her in Harrenhal, _The Lannisters are to blame for this_. But as it grew more distant she started to think that her mother and uncle and brother had had a hand in the destruction. Robb had done nothing to help the smallfolk though her uncle Edmure had tried. It was the brotherhood that had sought to make things right.

So now that she was faced with worse destruction in which a Lannister had part, when she knew the opponent had burned and slaughtered too, she had to wonder. _If I could still love Robb after he let all that happen, is it right for me to hate Daenerys?_

Arya did not know. Jon was in the dungeons somewhere, or dead for all she knew. She’d tried going down to the dungeons to find him and had been caught every time. There was only the one door in and out and it was well guarded.

Meeting the queen again was unavoidable in the end. Arya found herself invited to take supper with the queen in her solar. At first Arya had thought it an unwise level of trust but when she arrived and turned over her weapons she saw the guards. Of course guards could not protect from poison if Arya wished to try it.

The supper was meager; bread and a warm vegetable soup. The only difference between it and most of Arya’s meals at Winterfell during the war was the wine, which was arbor gold when Arya had been given beer or ale at home. She ate quickly by force of habit and took the opportunity to look at the queen’s face up close. There were dark circles under the woman’s eyes and faint lines about her mouth; smile lines. And frown lines on her forehead. An expressive face overall.

“Are you comfortable in your accommodations?” The queen asked her at last.

Arya did not need to think much about that, “Well enough. More comfortable than most.” She had Gendry to warm her bed.

There was a flash of hurt in the queen’s violet eyes, “Aye, more comfortable than most” she agreed.

Conversation begun, Arya saw her opportunity and seized it. “Is my brother alive?”

“Which one?”

“You know which one. Jon, is he alive?” Arya gripped the arms of her chair and she saw the Ser Barristan step closer.

The queen breathed deeply and sat straighter, “He is.”

Arya bit her lip, she wanted to ask the favor and hated that it was a favor, a boon, a privilege. “I wish to see him.”

The queen stared at her face for a long while before answering, “You may visit him as often as you like on two conditions. The first is that you will swear your fealty to me and your service to the realm so I can trust you, the second is that whenever you choose to visit your brother you will be accompanied by two guards. Whatever you say to each other may be reported back to me.”

Arya had expected worse, she had expected to be kept away from Jon. “Thank you!” she said hastily.

“There is one more thing.”

“You said two conditions.”

“This is not a condition of your visiting your brother.” The queen readjusted her seat and folded her hands in her lap, “I know that Lord Baratheon has been sharing your bed. I am simply curious if a wedding ought to be arranged?”

Arya could not stop the blush. She had known they weren’t being subtle and the memory of her nights with Gendry were intoxicating. He was probably already waiting for her. “No, Your Grace.”

“Very well,” the queen sipped at her wine. “Then we’d best discuss your duties as Mistress of Laws.”

* * *

Gendry was waiting for her when she returned to her chambers. “What did she say?” he asked the moment she shut the door.

Arya grinned, “I can visit Jon whenever I like.”

“That’s good,” Gendry told her before he swept her into his arms and onto the bed.

**Meera**

Arya Stark was visiting her brother when Meera came back from the Kingswood. It had been a long day and Meera, being a good hunter, had found herself volunteered into a hunting party that went across the Blackwater Rush at dawn to hunt down as many animals and forage as many plants as they could. The number of deer was shockingly high, Meera thought, considering how close the forest was to the starving thousands of the city. But then again most of those people lacked bow or spear and the skills with which to hunt. Nor had they boats to cross the great river. She’d dug up some roots and picked a small basketful of assuredly non-poisonous mushrooms, wild carrots, and greens for her and Bran.

They had not had the chance to meet in the two days since she and Bran had arrived in King’s Landing. On the first she and Bran were being taken all over the Red Keep and meeting with the queen. And she’d spent the last day in the forest. The siblings bore little resemblance to each other though Meera did recognize a similar glint in their eyes, the same curve of the mouth when they smiled. Bran’s warm smile made her legs feel wobbly – had that happened before? Meera couldn’t recall.

“Meera!” he said, grinning like a boy again. “Arya, this is my Meera! I mean my wife, Meera.”

Meera wasn’t sure what to do, should she bow? But Arya had already risen and swept her into a tight embrace. “He’s been talking about you _all day_. Have you been skinning rabbits?”

“It’s the smell isn’t it?”

“Yes, unmistakable.”

Arya released her and smile down at her. “What’s in the basket? It smells good.”

Meera set it on the table and removed the cloth, “Food, just for us.”

Bran raised an eyebrow, “Did you steal that?”

“No, I was allowed to keep a little as thanks for all the work I did today.”

Arya examined the contents, “It’s mostly greens Bran, and carrots, and oh!” She’d come across the plump quail Meera had taken from the kitchens before returning to the chambers. “Is there anything for the rest of us?”

“Of course, I just figured Bran wasn’t coming down to supper and he” she jabbed a finger at her husband “needs to eat more anyway.”

“You’re welcome to eat with us tonight Arya,” Bran blurted

“Can Gendry come?” Arya asked, tension in her voice.

“Certainly, though I think he should eat his normal supper first.”

Arya turned back to Meera, “I’ll bring something to add to the meal.”

With that Meera relaxed a little. After so many years of starving she was nervous about sharing food. As would most people in the realm.

When Arya left Meera shoved the basket towards Bran, “You need to eat.”

Bran grumbled a little but he picked through the greens and started chewing on a handful. “It’s better than acorn paste,” he said between two bites.

Gendry turned out to be a big man, a little younger than Meera. Arya introduced him as her friend though both lady and man blushed slightly. Surly and quiet he responded to Meera’s greeting with a low “M’lady.”

“Gendry is going to be an advisor on the small council with us,” Bran explained and helped himself to a sizeable chunk of the warm brown bread Arya had brought from the kitchens.

Meera tried to think of where to start with her questions. Bran had told her a great deal about Arya, she was his favorite sister after all even if he would never admit it. Finally, she settled on one, “How did you two come to be friends?” she asked Arya and Gendry.

The pair looked at each other, “It’s a long story,” Arya said.

“Then perhaps you could tell me the first part tonight and continue another time?”

“Well we were both in a group of prisoners and orphans, heading for the Wall, just after the old Lord Stark was executed…” Gendry began.

* * *

Meera was sore and sweaty and sticky from lovemaking and lay with her head tucked into Bran’s shoulder, an arm thrown tiredly over his chest. She kicked lazily at the blankets that were shoved and piled at the end of the bed, but they made it clear they would not move of their own accord. “Hmph” she snorted.

“Is that working?” Bran murmured.

“No.”

“Really? I thought blankets had a mind of their own.”

Meera pinched him, eliciting a small yelp. “Do you think they’re lovers? Arya and Gendry I mean,” she asked.

Bran bumped her chin when he shrugged. “I think so, though I’m not going to ask _or_ spy.”

“I wasn’t asking you to. But they blushed rather hard for friends.”

“They were holding hands beneath the table I think.”

“I thought your sister was an assassin and a spy. Shouldn’t she be better at hiding things?”

“I don’t think she cares to hide it.”

“Hmmm.” Meera ran her fingers over her husband’s chest, feeling the rises and hollows formed by surprisingly robust muscles on his chest and arms. She pressed and pinched around his ribs, “You’re filling out” she commented when she found a healthy layer of fat covered the bones.

“The way you’re feeding me I’ll be fat soon.”

She giggled and started kissing Bran along his jaw, making him gasp and squirm. Meera pushed herself up onto her knees to look down at him, her hand wandering down from his navel where it had been resting. “Are you ready for another go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a more disappointing note it may be a while before I can update again. I have a really demanding schedule right now, have maxed out on credits for next semester and there is also work and grad school applications to work on. I'm not going to abandon this or any of my other fics but I can only work on them when I have random bits of spare time and inspiration.  
> PS I'm not aiming for this to be a masterpiece so I'm aware some plotlines may come off as rushed or maybe I'm not portraying a character quite right and I appreciate your passion and keen eyes but as I said before I really don't have time so we all have to settle for what I'm able to do. Thank you for reading!


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